Lowtown Blues
by Lesatho
Summary: [Inspiration Challenge] [OneshotDrabble] Princess Ashelia was the rose of Rabanastre, but roses don’t survive long underground.


"Would you care to try once more?"

Sprawled on her back against the dusty scraped stones of Garamsythe, Ashe levered herself up onto her elbows and shot Vossler a look of such irritable hostility that it shuddered down the length of his spine. Wether she said yes or no made no difference because it was simply a matter of formality that he phrased his words as a question. Regardless of her answer the training would begin. But it was something that she had brought upon herself and so she would stick with it.

Learning how to use a sword was a challenge and her Knight was not the type to pull his punches for the sake of saving her a little bruising.

Rather than reply, she slumped back to the warm stones and gazed at the crumbling arches of stained and moss tinted stone above their heads and rather than pull her boldly to her feet to continue, the armor clad man shifted in the sallow light cast by a cluster of magicite and leaned against the wall. The first (and last) time he had pulled her to her feet when she refused to immediately rise, he'd been rewarded with a sharp blow to the solar plexus that he'd never seen coming. It bent him double with the snap of impact and as he choked for breath she'd dusted her hands and stalked back to the Resistance Camp set up some twisted collection of tunnels deeper beneath the palace. Ashe had to admit that growing up with a slew of older brothers had its finer moments.

In the silence, the waterways seemed almost peaceful and if she closed her eyes it was easy to allow herself to believe that this was all just some strange and unfortunate dream. Water rippled over the sides of the stone spillways and though the scent of the air was heavy with mold and dust, if she tried hard enough.. She could forget.

Blowing out a sigh, she opened hazel eyes to stare upward and frowned. Shifting against the wall, Vossler's weight of armor chipped off crumbling stone and the scrape of his graves dashed the illusion of sunlit beaches and Rasler's hand in hers to pieces where it struggled for life in her tired mind.

"Princess Ashelia, are you well?" When he took the time and formality to address her by her position, Ashe knew there was some concern or at least impatience on the knight's part and jerked her head in a stiff nod.

"I was concentrating." Twining slender fingers through her short, pale hair to ease loose the few tangles she'd earned through her dedicated practice to the blade, she lifted up and tucked her knees against her chest. Comforted by the steadiness the position offered she hooked her arms about her legs and held herself. "At times it seems like a cruel joke, this. What Dalmasca has been reduced to." There was unspoken understanding. What _she_ had been reduced to.

Abandoning his post at the wall, Vossler tracked a slow pace across the stone to where Ashe sat, sullen and deep in thought. She had learned during her time here with the knight as her guardian that his devotion to her protection was unwavering and though there had been many times that they had butt heads about the resistance and the past, he would never leave her side for an extended period of time. But despite this nearness; he never looked her directly in the eyes. Had never touched her unless there was cloth or armor between them to keep his skin from hers. It was a strange habit that cast him in an almost monastic light though she knew there was nothing saintly about the man save perhaps his steady inclination toward emotional retreat.

But he was her strength and knew that the feeling was mutual. Without her there and the resistance to whip into shape for their eventual reclamation of Rabanastre, she felt almost certain that Vossler would have nothing left to pursue. Losing his father had dealt her a wicked blow, and the dark knight at her side seemed to reel from an equally harsh event and even now, like herself, seemed unable to recover his balance.

And it felt strange to know that this unwavering stone knight at her side was far from invincible. But the mission gave him life. It gave her life as well. Gave her the chance to put King Raminas from her mind, and lulled the pain of losing both husband and father in such a short amount of time.

They were both struggling to stay afloat, mired in their own regrets and inability. Though he never spoke of his own troubles, they were easy to see; borne across his broad shoulders like the weight of the world. Ashe idly wondered what she looked like, holding her pains and burdens close to her heart like a scathing treasure.

Keeping busy, staying in motion, these things kept her from falling apart. And despite knowing better, she sat there and let the pain creep in around the edges.

"This does not suit you, Princess." Vossler's hand on her shoulder was a purposefully slight weight, though the bindings of his armored gauntlets bit into her skin enough to draw her attention.

"I am no Princess, not here Vossler." Shrugging his hand from her shoulder, she shook off her melancholy and rose to retrieve the blade that he had sent skittering from her uncertain grip a short while ago. "Here, I am Amalia. And I _need_ to do this." Taking up a steady stance, she pushed back the complaints of sore muscles and ignored the beads of sweat that rolled a tickling pathway down her spine. And she challenged him with a stare, flipping the tip of her blade in invitation.

Scowl falling briefly away, Vossler nodded his head and Ashe caught a brief glimpse of approval through his rich, dark eyes and thin smile. Then the man was gone, and naught but the knight remained to school her into proper form. Practice ran well through the hours, though wether it continued into the night was a fair guess as the sun never shone in the waterways beneath Lowtown. Time was abstract here. Finding the strength was difficult to achieve, but she did. And between finding opportunities to bring her crashing to the ground in defeat, Vossler told her as much and she basked in what minimal amounts of approval were offered.

Once, her father had called her his delicate rose, a comparison she wore proudly until her young mind forgot he had even said it; years later down the road. Her mother had smiled, fond and understanding, while her brothers had found some way to twist it around into tear-jerking and howl inducing insult in the ways only siblings could manage. It was strange how that memory returned to her here, lost among the watermarked stone and hollow cries of beasts and monsters that roamed the darkness beyond eyesight.

Princess Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca was a rose. Amalia was not. No rose could have survived with such brittle effort amidst the dark and lightless world below the home she loved.

Distracted, she crashed to the ground as Vossler braced blades against hers and hooked a slim ankle with his own armored toes. The breath rushed from her lungs on impact but this time.. This time she held fast to the handle of her blade and was rewarded when Vossler nodded in approval.

"Very good." he murmured and offered her a leather and iron clad hand to stand. "Would you care to try again?"

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For Captain Lynza's Inspirational Fic challenge.


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